


Beneficial Banishment

by Virodeil



Series: Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled [30]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Age Difference, Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Language, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Character Development, Character Study, Gen, Good Laufey, Implied/Referenced Temporary Character Death, Internalised Racism, Intersex Jotunn (Marvel), Jotunn Biology (Marvel), Jotunn Culture, Jotunn Physiology, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, Language Barrier, Laufey (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Mama laufey, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Infancy Breastfeeding, Single-Gendered Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: As punishment for trying to erase Jötunheim from Yggdrasil and for invading Midgard, Loki is banished to the section of Jötunheim that he did break, to witness what he has wrought and help undo the damage. Does it work for him?
Relationships: Laufey (Marvel) & Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) & jötnar (Marvel)
Series: Caught Is Caught Is Cuddled [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1089204
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77
Collections: The Land of Ice and Snow





	Beneficial Banishment

**Author's Note:**

> The grammar in the words spoken by the frost giants is intentionally weird for us, as their culture and customs bleed into their words, even in Allspeak, especially when addressing a superior. (There is no “you” when addressing a superior, in the jötnar’s language and customs (it would be very rude, if used, even a taboo), and addressing oneself in a third person manner is more respectful than in the first person.) Also, even though Loki is a young man (or at least in the cusp of adulthood) to the æsir, he is yet a child to the jötnar and treated thus. And, last but not least, our view, use and parameters of breastfeeding may differ significantly from those of the jötnar’s.
> 
> List of terms used in this story:  
> Aslakonnar: Your Highness (an address for the child of a ruling monarch)  
> Ðolukonnar: Their/Your Majesty (an address for the ruling monarch)
> 
> Started on: 2nd June 2020 at 11:49 PM  
> Finished on: 13th January 2021 at 03:04 PM

Loki, in his jötun form, stands alone and weaponless in a broken wasteland of rock and ice that is Jötunheim, feeling naked all round. And in fact, he is garbed only in a sparce skirt – not even a loincloth – and nothing else, not even a pair of boots.

He quivers; not at all in cold, but definitely in indignation, rage and betrayal.

Because, as punishment for trying to erase Jötunheim from Yggdrasil and for invading Midgard, he has been banished here, to the section of Jötunheim that he did break, to witness what he has wrought and help undo the damage.

Odin said this is only justice, that he needs to atone for his mistake, that Odin himself needed to atone for his own mistake. And then Loki found himself transported here straight from the throneroom, using the power of the Tessaract wielded by the Allfather.

He was given no chance to speak for himself. And not even Thor had a good word for him before he was left alone here just now.

He did not even get a chance to say goodbye to Frigga, who stood silent and grief-stricken by Odin’s side, although even now he is not sure if he _wanted_ to do so.

Well, if this is how Odin is being _lenient_ with his punishment, he would hate to know what that old man would consider harsh!

But regardless, he is still alive, still free, still mostly intact, and he is determined to stay thus.

Even if he has to kill any remaining frost giants to do so.

He flexes his seiðr on that thought, eager to wreak some havoc among the beasts before they will no doubt hunt him down and kill him. Size still matters to a point even in a contest of seiðr, after all, and he is a runt among those beasts.

And then, with the same grim determination firmly planted in his mind, he picks a direction from which something akin to the Bifrost’s energy yet lingers.

**O-O-O-O**

Loki does not know how long he has been standing still, here, at the edge of a miles-wide, probably mile-deep jagged crater with strangely glass-like bottom that _still_ bears the remnants of the Bifrost’s energy, and _also_ a sharp, cloying smell that somehow viscerally discomfits him. On the opposite side of where he stands, what looks like a village of stone cave-like cottages stands empty. More than a few of the dwellings even seem to have been swallowed by the crater – the powerful punch that the Bifrost has given this land, apparently.

He does not know, either, _why_ he just stands still and looks on.

He feels hollow, indifferent. Not pitying, but not joyful. Not like what he imagined before, what he felt and thought and planned before.

When ice gravels crunch loudly not so far behind him, he only twitches a little, once, then returns to the earlier stillness, in mind and body and soul.

When a deep voice calls lowly in a language untranslatable by Allspeak from the same direction but far up high, he ignores it altogether, although a part of his mind begins to calculate arm-reach and egress points by habbit.

When the tips of _humongous_ fingers attached to an even larger hand land lightly on his shoulder without doing anything else, he stirs, at last, and looks up – _far high up_ – to the blue, craggy, white-marked face of a jötun.

It is strange, he thinks dimly, that the frost giant – and neither its all-too-quiet friends, now he notices, arrayed to all sides but on the gash made by the Bifrost in front of him – does not seek to crush him, _a runt_. Was he not abandoned as a runt? Do they not abhor even the sight of a runt among them?

Did they know that he is the one responsible for… _this_?

Did they know that _he killed their king_?

Should he let them know?

Well, in any case, he must know why they are here, and why they are willingly approaching a runt if not to get rid of the said runt.

So he opens his mouth–

–And clicks it shut, when the lead frost giant _kneels before him_ and speaks softer, gentler, as if to a child – an injured or shocky child, maybe – albeit still in the incomprehensible language.

“Why,” he manages, at length, after regaining _some_ of his equilibrium. “Why are you here?” His voice cracks, and he figures that he has been silent for too long.

“We set a perimeter ward around this blasted thing for any visitor or straggler,” the jötun huffs, although its tone remains mild. “Now, why is **Aslakonnar** here? Did **Aslakonnar** reunite with **Ðolukonnar** yet? Why is **Aslakonnar** alone?”

Loki frowns, puzzled. “You mistook my identity, I think,” he offers, willing to be civil as he is still processing the sighte of the blast zone of the Bifrost unleashed, as the frost giant and its cohorts – however strange it is – also do not seem to seek to harm him at this time.

“The kinlines do not lie, **Aslakonnar** , and by now we are aptly trained to recognise deceptions done to them,” is what the jötun says in reply, with a dark undertone in the latter part of its statement.

Loki’s frown deepens. “kinlines?” Then he lets out an embarrassing squeak, as, before he can continue and without any warning from the jötun, he is scooped up into its arms.

But _not_ in a pinning hold, or in a motion precursor to throwing him away, or a slew of other unpleasant possibilities.

Well, being treated as though a delirious child in need of coddling – being cradled snugly, with his head tucked gently into the crook of the jötun’s arm – is _not_ pleasant, and he does fight to break free the best that he can, even with seiðr, but this at least frees him from any possibility of threat of violence and harm to his person.

Because he is somehow _tired_ of violence, by now, although he is aware that he did not begin thus.

The frost giants move as one away from the blast zone, then, and they board some kind of transport.

“Where are you bringing me to?” he demands when the transport has taken off, his voice muffled by his captor’s arm.

“To **Aslakonnar** ’s dam,” is the short, simple answer – _that does not answer anything_ , to him.

Not in a way that he wishes, that is.

He would take even being imprisoned somewhere than having to face _his birth mother_ and her grief, rage or difficult questions.

He does not wish to know, either – does not wish to face the truth – if it was not only Laufey who abandoned him, and he fears that this topic might come up should they meet.

“Can you not bring me somewhere else?” he pleads outright, even as he tries to flee once more.

“Where to, **Aslakonnar**?” the jötun responds, as calmly as before, while expertly foiling all of his attempts. “This is a desolate place by now, and Eðu cannot even fathom how **Aslakonnar** managed to come here undetected and unaided. Besides, **Aslakonnar** ’s dam has been searching for **Aslakonnar** ever since **Aslakonnar** was lost. Surely–.”

“I fell,” Loki bites out, cutting off the jötun’s ludicrous blathering. “Now let me go!”

The jötun huffs again, then announces with – for once – a sliver of irritation, “Well, we have arrived, indeed. **Aslakonnar** can explain that statement to **Ðolukonnar** without any intermediary.”

The statement sounds ominous, and Loki cringes before he can prevent it.

But this time, the frost giant does not attempt to soothe him, however misguidedly.

Inexplicably, stupidly, now he feels _lost_ for the lack of it.

He does not feel accomplished, either, when his captor does not prevent him from popping his head up over its arm to look round.

They are moving out to a completely different place, as he has half guessed, albeit unfortunately still in Jötunheim judging by the ambience. Various buildings made of ice that look temporary – the jötnar’s version of tents, perhaps? – fill the view before him, stretching to one side. The other side is filled with a much bigger building, which looks to be reinforced with stone and seiðr-born protections, but the jötun – Eðu? – does not bring him there. Still carried in his captor’s arms and flanked by the other frost giants, he is instead brought to somewhere in the encampment, to a building which is no different than the others surrounding it: small, squat and utilitarian.

Another frost giant is seated beside the doorway, wittling a block of stone. It rises to its feet when it sees them, and its eyes quickly hone in on Loki.

It speaks with Loki’s captor for a while in the untranslatable language, sounding shocked and disbelieving but also… cautiously elated? Then it slips into the building and murmurs something to whoever is inside.

It returns back out shortly, looking so sentiently fondly aggrevated and worried that calling it an it seems… not so apt. But given the expression, rarely worn openly by æsir men, calling it a he does not seem to fit, either.

The useless musing about fitting pronouns manages to distract the hapless not-ás, so much so that he does not make a scene when his custody changes hands to the new frost giant, the one who seems to have been guarding the doorless doorway, if not waiting for them.

Somehow, whatever the outcome might be, whatever the reason has been for leaving him abandoned as a baby, he does not want to show his _im_ maturity to his birth mother. A remnant regard for Frigga, he suspects.

Well, and also an acknowledgement that his birth mother _might_ have had nothing to do with his abandonment, if she has indeed been searching for him all this time.

There is no giantess in the room inside, however, and there is indeed only one room that he can see and sense, as simply and utilitariantly equipped as the exterior suggests. The only two furniture here are a small, spindly wooden nightstand that holds nothing on top and an ice platform beside it that ridiculously dwarves it, populated by a mound of furs and cushions.

And also by the form of a _horribly familiar_ jötun, lying on… _her_?!… back in the messy but cosy-looking nest, with… _her_???… eyes half-open but unfocused in sleep.

“ **Aslakonnar** ’s dam,” the new captor introduces simply and solemnly in a murmur. Then, in a louder voice, it – they? – addresses the jötun wallowing in the mess of furs and cushions – _Laufey_ , it is _Laufey_ , somehow! But why _Laufey_? Laufey is a _man_! And Laufey should have been _dead_! – in somewhat of a sing-song, shockingly unexpected to have come out of the mouth of a possible royal guard when addressing a monarch, “ **Ðolukonnar** , Loé is hungry.”

A grumbling, _whining_ mutter is the only answer that they receive, although Laufey does turn ponderously to the side facing the speaker, as if exhausted to the bone and severely lethargic because of it.

“Well, good enough,” Loki’s new captor – a mad, mad jötun, it seems – mutters as if to themself. Then they kneels before the platform, perches Loki right beside Laufey, then _instructs the latter to put his hands on Laufey’s chest_.

“Are you mad?!” Loki squawks, in the softest voice he can muster so close to… _this_ jötun, and stares wide-eyed at the mad jötun who has just delivered him to _Laufey_.

And the mad, mad, mad creature looks _quizzically_ back at him.

“ **Ðolukonnar** is exhausted, yes, after so long trying to help recover this district from the attack last year, with little rest,” they explain patiently, but rather bewilderedly, and a little long-sufferingly, “but not to the point of inability to provide **Aslakonnar** with necessary sustenance. **Aslakonnar** ’s hands will help urge **Ðolukonnar** ’s body to remember and go faster in creating the milk.”

“Milk?!” Loki squeaks, but does not know – does not care – if it is because of the very concept of _him_ , a young man already, _nursing from someone’s breasts_ , let alone those of _Laufey’s_ , or because of the huge arm now sluggishly snaking across his belly from behind in a sleepy one-arm hug.

“Milk,” his former captor confirms, now exasperated _with him_ , then continues in the same tone. “ **Aslakonnar** is too small and skinny. The usual food alone cannot help remedy that, only milk, and **Ðolukonnar** would be _furious_ if someone else dared give it to **Aslakonnar** , especially in this first time. **Ðolukonnar** has been looking forward to taking care of and raising **Aslakonnar** since **Aslakonnar** was yet one with **Ðolukonnar** , and the wish only intensifies after **Aslakonnar** was lost to us. We watched, and we could _only_ watch, for the longest time, but now we can do something about it, so why would we not?”

Blunt. Discomfittingly raw. Heartfelt, to boot. – Loki cannot find even a smidge of misdirection or half-truth in the jötun’s words, nor in their – pained, bittersweetly joyful, fierce – expression.

His heart leaps. His breath hitches.

He does not fight it, when the arm wrapped round his midsection drags him slowly but surely farther into the nest. He is… _confused_.

His former captor does a strange form of obeisance – bowing _and_ courtsying low with their hands behind their back and the column of their throat exposed – to him – or to _them_ , rather – and then, without another word, backs out of the room. Loki acknowledges it only with a blank stare.

And then his new captor – his _mother_?!! – manages to drag him flush against their – _her_? – body, and his breath hitches again, with a horribly audible hiccuppy noise this time.

The contact feels _all too real_ for the surreality of the concept, and _all too intimate_ to have with one that he has regarded as a personal enemy since more than a year ago.

And _all too forgiving_ to be initiated by one whom _he betrayed and tried to kill_ last year.

But it is there, regardless of his confusion and denial and horror and discomfiture, regardless of if he flees now and never comes back.

It is made worse when a sleepy mind reaches out and _re_ connects with his, _re_ establishing a link that he thought was not there.

And then joyful shock not of his own bursts in their shared link, as if the one at the other end _also_ thought that this was just a surreal dream. And with that, the arm wrapped round him suddenly tightens, no longer relaxed by lethargy, before it manoeuvres him round and, with the help of the other arm, drags him up to meet Laufey’s eyes, now rather comically rounded, and keeps him there.

Loki looks away, unwilling _and unable_ to bear seeing the raw emotion displayed openly in those eyes.

He cringes, feeling strangely ashamed, when Laufey whispers, “You died. You were hidden for so long from me, and then you _died_. The veil was lifted, then, because you _died_. Ýmir, I never thought….”

Thanos. He has been roundly and soundly defeated by _Thanos_ ; to the point of temporary death, it seems.

And somebody else, realms away, _noticed it_.

And, judging from the thick wavering tone in the admission now spilling from _that_ mouth, she – _Laufey_ – also _mourned_ his passing.

Is this what Odin meant with “help to undo the damage that you wrought” when he proclaimed Loki’s sentence? Did Odin _know_ beforehand about whom Laufey is to Loki?

Come to think of it again, Odin _never_ specifically said that Laufey _herself_ abandoned this runt.

Nor is Loki treated as a runty adult, thus far, among the frost giants. More like… a sickly, malnourished child, which is insulting in a way, but… somehow _also_ relieving.

` _Lyar,_ ` he thinks, when, receiving no response from him and seemingly not expecting any, Laufey drags him back down a little, enough to be comfortably tucked against her _now-mounded_ chest, surrounded by her flesh, her scent, her seiðr. ` _Odin should have been ‘the god of lies’, not I. What a good lyar._ `

And then _a nipple_ is pressed into his mouth, making it squirt a strange but surprisingly addicting substance, and instincts take over.

` _If I knew I have to make amends this way…,_ ` he thinks muzzily as warmth that is not warmth spreads down his throat to his belly then to all over his body, as _his birth mother_ croons him a lullaby that he _vaguely remembers_ in a not-so-steady voice. But the thought is never finished, as he slides smoothly into sleep, totally undone.

There is no danger to look out for, after all.

Not here.

Not when somebody else is looking out for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ☺  
> Rey


End file.
